Destructive Interference
by emeraldteardrops
Summary: Seiji centered fic, set post Gaiden. Rated M for language, violence, and sensitive topics. Summary: Penance never comes cheap. ON HOLD
1. Prologue

A/N This is something completely new from me. Every word I write on this fic forces me out of my comfort zone. Set post Gaiden, it is Seiji centered and is going to be a pretty rough, raw, and probably violent fic. It will be rated M for very good reasons. If I haven't scared you off yet, then I hope you enjoy it. Oh, and thanks to Mirror and Image, Moonlessnight, Rekkachan, and Kita for their early support on this project. :)

**Destructive Interference**

Prologue

The blonde kid had been sitting patiently in the waiting area for over three hours now, and it was bugging the hell out of Detective Matt Reynolds. He wasn't sure what it was that irritated him so much. Maybe it was the overly controlled expression on the kid's face, like it didn't matter to him one bit that he had been kept rudely waiting for so long. Maybe it was the ridiculous mass of fluffy yellow hair on a head that was most definitely Asian, and shouldn't have been blonde. Maybe it was the fact that his fingers didn't tap the arms of the chair, his feet didn't fidget, and he never once even shifted that Matt could see. Or that he refused to leave when Matt had way to much work to do today than to make time for him. There was a pile of paperwork up to the detective's chin, a cold half cup of coffee that desperately needed refilling, and dead New Yorkers piling up by the minute. He just did not have time for patience Asian boys who had asked specifically for him and him alone.

Matt deliberately turned around in his desk chair so that his back was to the far side of the room. Perhaps if he didn't see the kid sitting there every time that he tackled his next impossible task, he wouldn't be so damn distracted by him. Biting his pencil sideways between his teeth, Matt ran his finger down his long list of eye witnesses from last week's insanity, wondering if one of them was going to give him anything he could actually work with. So far it had only been Halloween costumes and explosions, impossible reports of fights and a military attack that had done nothing more than cause mass panic in the city. There were more dead citizens from the military response than from anything else. Didn't those idiots have a concept of the phrase "damage control"? Little kids had been trampled in the mess, and were still in the hospital. It made him so mad he could spit, and he had no problem showing it. If his superiors wanted to placate the U.S. government and the mayor, than they were welcome to be the brown nose ass kissing traitors that they were. Matt Reynolds was fighting for his city and there were killers on the loose that had started all of this. He didn't care how many people he pissed off in his search for the guy the papers had dubbed the green goblin. The name was stupid but the case sure wasn't. Too many people had died...

He sure as hell didn't have time for this kid.

"You certainly look cheerful today, doc," a woman said from the next desk over. Long brown bangs barely covered the smirking eyes of his partner, Fritz. She tossed her head back and spun in her chair, a cocky grin on her face. "Are we not enjoying our job anymore?"

"I'll be enjoying it when I have a decent lead for once," Matt growled, wishing she would just stop calling him doc. He hated the nickname with a passion. "Why are you so happy?"

"Cause I think I might have found that lead for you," Fritz said smugly. "A woman from Manhattan says that she got a good look at the green goblin himself. I've got a sketch artist headed her way in an hour. Maybe we've finally struck gold."

Matt gave her a tight grin, pleased. Fritz was many things, but a good detective was on the foremost of that list. He'd lucked out in the partner draw this time around. Matt grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and hoped to his feet.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" he said. "Let's nail this bastard."

Fritz rose more slowly, taking her time as she pulled on her own windbreaker. "What's the rush? We're a lot closer than the artist is. Might as well take our time. I'm hungry anyways, let's get some food."

"Work Fritz, then eat," he reminded her, causing the woman to sigh and brush her bangs out of her eyes. They fell right back in again.

"What about him?" she asked, pointing to the young man that had been waiting so long for her partner. "Aren't you going to at least talk to him?"

"Nope. If I'm lucky he'll be gone by the time we get back." Matt led Fritz out of the station, deliberately ignoring the violet eyes that stared at him as he left.

* * *

The lead was a bust. The only useful bit of information the senile old bag had provided them was the height and build of the green goblin, aka the man who had attacked and murdered innocent New Yorkers twice last week. However, it wasn't much to go on considering they had to factor in armor bulk. What looked like a six foot tall man could actually be a five foot six girl scout with a big helmet. And no, she had not seen a face. Just because it was dark inside the mask didn't make the killer African American. At that point Matt had fought hard and failed to keep his professionalism. Another false lead and they were nowhere closer to the actual murderer. Murderers, that is. From what he had heard from eyewitness account, the green goblin wasn't the only one fighting that day in weird funky armor. But they were fighting each other, which made this whole thing even more tangled. Halloween costumed gangbangers? It seemed like such a stretch, but there wasn't much to go by. And here he was, another day wasted.

Matt tried not to take it out on Fritz, who looked embarrassed and pissed at herself.

"That was ridiculous," Fritz declared, slumping into the driver's seat of her car. Matt just shook his head silently as he climbed in. "Sorry, doc. I'd thought she'd seen something worthwhile."

"She may have once in her life," he grumped. "But not since the late nineteen-forties."

"Ouch," Fritz murmured as she started up the vehicle. "Can we at least get some food now?"

"Work, Fritz, work. We're falling further behind every day."

"Food, doc, food. Takeout Chinese. There's a place down the street that'll only take ten minutes out of your busy day," Fritz pushed, pulling out into the heavy traffic. Matt just sighed and nodded, closing his eyes to block out his frustrations. Sure enough only a few minutes later the car pulled to a hard stop, courtesy of Fritz's lack of driving skills. Matt grunted at the force of the stop and arched an eyebrow at his partner. She just grinned and left the car running as she jumped out. Only seconds later she was back.

"Not our day, it seems," she murmured. "The place is closed temporarily. I peeked in the window, it looks trashed."

"Welcome to New York," he said sardonically. "Where all things that can go wrong, do go wrong."

"You're a pessimist doc," Fritz declared, heading back to the station and her supply of frozen dinners.

"No, I'm a realist. You have to be in this job."

"I don't, I just have to be fed. Eventually. Then I can be as optimistic as I want to be."

Matt gave her a grin and patted her shoulder. "You're still just a baby, Fritz. One day you'll understand the limitations of hopefulness."

"And you wonder why you're divorced," Fritz countered, shooting him a smirk. They rode in a companionable silence back to the station, pausing briefly to speak to the chief about their failure to make headway on the green goblin case before dropping back into their desks.

"Now what?" Fritz asked him tiredly. Matt rubbed his eyes and picked up his list of eyewitnesses. He never had a chance to reply. Instead he was interrupted by a quiet clearing of a throat right behind him. Matt and Fritz turned and saw that same blonde Asian kid. He was standing behind them with his hands calmly clasped together.

"Yes?" Matt sighed, rolling his eyes at Fritz. "You're still here?"

The kid nodded, bowing politely. Matt eyed him up and down, noting the well made clothes and the proper behavior. The blonde hair was still irritating him.

"I needed to speak with you, Detective Reynolds," he spoke softly, his English smooth and precise, although accented.

"Listen honey," Fritz said with an appreciative smile as she too looked him up and down. "Doc and I are pretty busy today. Why don't you go talk to some of the other cops here?"

Violet eyes narrowed briefly, a show of irritation, then his face smoothed over.

"You are in charge of the investigation of last week's killings, are you not?" he asked. Matt nodded and turned back to his list, done with the conversation.

"Got some calls to make, kid. Take it to someone else."

"I cannot." The firmness in his voice made Matt glance up. Was it his imagination or did he just see a flicker of fear in the young man's eyes? Or was it something else? The blonde stepped forward and bowed once more, deeper.

"My name is Date Seiji. I have come to turn myself in."

Matt's jaw dropped as the kid held his wrists out in front of him.

"I am the killer you have been searching for."

* * *

Fritz thought she had seen a lot of off things in her life and nothing could phase her anymore. But now there was Date Seiji, here to dispel her theory.

He had been quiet the last few hours after making his statement, sitting on the hard holding cell cot with his hands folded in his lap. The cool exterior from before remained as steadfast as ever, but the longer Fritz watched Date, the more she picked up on his nervousness. His breathing was deep and controlled…too controlled. As if he was working on holding it slow and steady. He would blink rapidly every few minutes or so, as if surprised to find himself surrounded by steel bars and concrete. And one foot was now tucked beneath the other knee, as close as Fritz thought this guy could get to curling up in the fetal position. Which she would be if she was in his shoes, being questioned for multiple homicides and faced with life in prison if convicted. Fritz would be weeping like a child, calling every lawyer she could think of and praying like a fanatic to get herself out of it. But Date wasn't. He had declined his phone call. No, he did not want a lawyer present. Yes, he was responsible for the deaths from last week. Case closed.

Well, not really.

There's this little tiny thing in crime fighting that is necessary for a detective and her not so suave partner to make their arrests: evidence. The problem with this one was that there was no evidence, and not even the self proclaimed killer could provide them with any. Did he have possession of the armor to prove that it was really him? Yes. Could he show it to them? No. Why not? Because he couldn't. Was he protecting someone in connection to the armor? Yes. Were they responsible for the deaths as well? No. The others were fighting in the streets, weren't they? Yes, but because of him. That didn't matter…they still were party to the mass panic that caused multiple injuries that day. There was no answer to that, only a curt shake of the head, a denial, and eyes that closed for just a moment too long. Then the weird stuff came.

He couldn't explain how he killed them. He couldn't identify any of the deceased. He didn't know what day the killings occurred. He didn't know where the killings occurred. He didn't know why he killed them. No, it was not premeditated. Yes, he was very sorry. If it had been anyone else, Fritz would have said flat out that they were lying, as stupid as that would be to do. But this Date guy seemed completely sure of himself, sure of his role in the murders, whatever role that might be. And no, he still did not want to make that phone call.

Fritz was sitting backwards in her chair, leaning on the back two legs as she stared through the cell bars. She chewed on her bottom lip, hiding behind her bangs as she stared at him thoughtfully. If he was unnerved by her scrutiny, Date never showed it.

"You know, we still have a lot more questions we are supposed to ask you," Fritz told the young man, studying his reactions. He simply nodded acceptance.

"I will tell you what you need to know," Date told her, sitting up straighter. Fritz gave him a friendly grin and scooted her chair closer to the bars.

"Yeah? Well, here's the problem, darlin'. You're not really telling us anything we _actually_ need to know."

He looked up at her, violet eyes darkening slightly. Like a cornered cat, looked in a cage of his own making.

"What more do you need?" Date asked carefully. "I have confessed to the crimes committed. That is not enough?"

Fritz leaned further in, until the back of the chair rested against metal. She could smell the perp from here. Soap and a touch of subtle aftershave. Not your average everyday perp.

"Evidence, my dear, evidence. We don't have any, and from what you've been saying, it looks like you don't have any either. If you're so sure of your guilt, you're certainly not doing a good job proving it."

Date's jaw clenched and he glanced at the wall. In frustration, maybe?

"My word should be sufficient proof," he told her in a tight voice. Fritz said nothing, watching him intently, waiting for him to become uncomfortable. To twitch, to move, to break, to mess up and become readable to the detective that had a rep for seeing through all the bad guys. Most guys would be sweating bullets by now, but this one…If anything he seemed offended that she didn't merely accept his confession and lock him up forever. There was a crack in this wall…pride.

Fritz let the chair drop back with a loud crack, jumping up and pulling her keys out of her pocket. Date watched her suspiciously as she unlocked the cell door and sauntered inside, straight up to him. She dropped down on her haunches, so that she was looking up at him, speaking quietly as if whispering a confidence.

"Here's the thing," she said sweetly. "I think you're a big fat liar. I think that you had nothing to do with this case. I think you're some rich foreign kid trying to make waves with his daddy and thought this would be a fun prank to pull. I think you have international incident written all over you, but what I don't think is that you're a killer."

"You're wrong," Date growled, obviously furious at the insult. Fritz laughed out loud and stood up, taking a step back from the cot.

"You're a killer, Date?" she countered with a smirk. Then Fritz pulled her piece out of her jacket and hefted it in her hand.

"Prove it." She tossed the gun at him.

It hit the floor by his feet with a metallic clang when he refused to catch it. Instead he stared at her. Fritz stared right back, hands on her hips, waiting. Date slowly leaned down and picked up the gun, holding it carefully pointed away from her and himself.

"There are no bullets in this," he said, voice dropping dangerously. "Or you would not have given it to me."

"Maybe, maybe not. You'll never know until you try. Do you really think I would make it that easy for you to call my bluff?"

Date glanced at the gun in surprise, then opened the chamber, letting three bullets fall out into his palm. Finally he looked shaken, completely unsure of himself. Fritz chuckled and stepped back up to him, taking back her gun and bullets.

"Fifty/fifty chance, baby. You're a killer and I lose." She slipped the blanks into her pocket and tucked the gun in her belt. Then she winked. "I never lose."

Date said nothing, and looked at his lap. Fritz snorted.

"You're no killer," she stated, shaking her head. "Sorry to disappoint you, _Date Seiji_."

Fritz left the cell, and the slam of the door locking behind her muffled the softly spoken words of her charge.

"What was that?" she asked, tucking the keys back in her pocket. The blonde man looked up and held her gaze. Despite the fact that she had won this round, the look he gave her made her uncomfortable. "What, Date?"

"I said, I don't need a gun."

She didn't say anything, the cold and tired voice creeping her out. When did kids, barely more than teenagers, start talking like this?

"Of course you don't," Fritz finally agreed, shrugging. Maybe the kid was just a nutcase. Better call for a psych evaluation after she met up with doc. Convinced that she had this guy pegged, the detective left the room, not hearing the blonde's raw words.

"I've never needed a gun."

* * *

"Reynolds! Fritz! GET IN HERE!!!"

The detective team simultaneously winced. The roar coming from the chief of police's office was loud enough that the entire station momentarily went silent. Then a nervous twitter accompanied the scraping of Matt's chair as he grudgingly stood up. Fritz stared longingly at the front door as she followed her partner into the large corner office, past smirking cops. They weren't the most popular pair these days. Between Fritz's unnaturally lucky streak that had risen her too far too fast, and Matt's single minded bulldozer personality, they were too successful in their coworker's eyes. And the general "screw you, I'm doing it my way" attitude equally shared by both seemed to rub most of the other cops the wrong way.

Not that Matt gave a shit about what people thought, but the room was a little too eager to see him and Fritz get their butts chewed. Which was definitely going to happen. Making a mental note to rein in his temper, Matt thumped the back of a rookie's head for good measure right before entering the office. The rookie called him an asshole. It made Matt smile as Fritz shut the door behind him.

"Reynolds! Wipe that damn smirk off you face! What do you have to be smiling about?!" the chief whirled around in his chair, eyes flashing. He was a big man, but big men had never intimidated Matt. Big men were clumsy…they missed things. Matt never missed anything. "Does it amuse you that we have a murderer that we have to release tonight? Because of your failure to get even one scrap of evidence out of him!"

Fritz sank down into a chair silently, knowing better than to open her mouth right now. She tried her best to blend in with the chair fabric.

"And you, Fritz!" No such luck today. "What the hell was that earlier?! Giving a suspect your goddamn gun? Are you out of your fucking MIND?!"

"It had blanks," she murmured in her defense, then ducked from the paperweight that went flinging past the chair.

"Blanks?! Your reasoning for providing a killer with an armed weapon is it had blanks? What about the fifty odd codes you broke by that dumbass stunt? If the fool actually had a lawyer we wouldn't have a case at all right now! Not that we have a case anyway, since you two idiots can't get one freaking piece of evidence out of a guy that went to all the trouble of gift wrapping and delivering himself to our fucking doorstep! Is this job too hard for you two? Do I need to send you back to basic training? Would you two like to be goddamn HOTDOG vendors for the rest of your careers cause you SURE AS HELL AREN'T COPS!"

The chief seethed, glare moving from one to the other.

"Would you like to explain yourselves or should I just fire you now?"

Fritz licked her lips, glancing uneasily at Matt. To her, Doc seemed as cool as a cucumber. That meant he was two steps away from losing it.

"Date's a goldmine of uselessness, Chief," Matt said simply. "Whoever he is, he's not the killer. If it bothers you, then feel free to set him up. You've got the confession, and I'm sure Date will not fight you if you manufacture yourself some evidence. But I'm not sending some messed up kid to jail for life just so you can look good on the six o'clock news."

"You're out of line, Reynolds," the chief snarled.

"No, sir, I'm out of patience. This whole case is ridiculous. Suck up your pride, call in some favors, turn it over to the FBI, and get on to something else. Let the feds chase down the green goblin so that we can get back to actual police work," Matt snapped back. Fritz slunk lower in her seat. Be like the fabric, be like the fabric…

"You think the feds aren't already on this, Reynolds? You think that the only one breathing down my neck is the mayor? Well, I got news for you, jerkoff. This is my city! These are my folk that died out there, and I will not suffer incompetence nor boredom to distract the department from this case! You think you have more important things to do than stop a serial murder?!"

"Yeah," Matt stated coldly. "Yeah, I do. Because while you sit in here on your butt all day thinking of new ways to look pretty on TV, actual crime is going on out there. We've got Italian mafia, Irish mob, Japanese crime syndicates, and gangbangers fighting for territory, with innocent citizens caught in the crossfire. We've got drugs and arms and child prostitutes being smuggled into the city at alarming rates. We've got old women getting raped and beaten to death in their homes at night, and to me that's more important than dissecting some kid who is not a murderer. Give me a real lead, a real suspect, and I'll nail the sonofabitch, cause that's what I do, Chief. But nothing's coming up, and yes. I do have more important things to do. If you think you can get more out of Date, enough that your tiny speck of a conscience is satisfied, then let the kid fry. Earn yourself a gold fucking star from the Mayor. But I'm not going to be a part of it, because I'm a real cop. Sir."

Even Fritz's jaw dropped in the silence that remained. Then Matt decided he wasn't done quite yet, this was a little too much fun, and it only went downhill from there.

* * *

The blonde man looked like he hadn't moved since earlier that morning, when the chief of police himself had come to Date's cell and given him a taste of the good old American justice system. Date had ground his teeth audibly in irritation and had glared furiously as he wiped the spit out of his eyes. But he had stood his ground. There was no evidence to give, just his word. That was going to have to be enough.

Except that it wasn't.

Forty-eight hours after Date Seiji had confessed his guilt to the multiple murders committed last week, Detective Matt Reynolds and his partner Fritz told him that he was free to go.

"No," Date said instantly, head snapping up, eyes wild. "You cannot do that."

"It's not a question of can or cannot, kid," Matt said with a grunt, tossing Date a stack of release forms. "I am. It a matter of we have nothing to hold you here. To keep you any longer in custody would be a violation of your civil rights. And considering you aren't a citizen of this country, international policy makes things even more complicated. You need to leave. We won't keep you here, even if I have to drag you out."

The young man was visibly upset, paler than usual, his hands clenched tightly into fists in his lap.

"I need to be here," Date told them in a thick voice. "I'm supposed to be here. You have to keep me here."

"Listen honey," Fritz said with a sympathetic smile. "Psych might have okayed you, but we know you're still a little crazy. If you need a place to go, we can help set something up. If you need someone to talk to, we've got those too. But this is a police station, not a bed and breakfast. Unless you want to finally give us something more, than we have no choice but to release you."

The kid closed his eyes and bowed his head, trembling. Matt watched him, wondering just what the hell was going on in his mind.

"I don't get it," Matt said quietly, leaning against the wall of the cell. "Why does it matter so much to you that you stay? Why do you want to go to jail so bad?"

"Because I killed innocent people," Date whispered, eyes still closed.

"Are you afraid if we let you go, you'll kill again?" Fritz asked. Date jerked his head sideways in a stiff motion.

"I will never hurt an innocent person again."

"Then don't hurt anybody," Fritz shrugged, willing to leave it at that as she pulled a pen out of her pocket. Matt however squatted down next to the young man, leaning in slightly.

"What's this all about, Date?" Matt pressed softly. "Really?"

Sage Date took a deep breath and lifted his head up, so that he was eye to eye with the detective. His violet eyes were bloodshot but steady as they stared directly at Matt.

"Penance."

Matt nodded and then looked at Fritz. She tipped her head sideways, recognizing the look in her partner's eyes. The wheels in his head were turning and he rose, pacing across the cell. Finally he wheeled around and pointed at Date.

"You think you're a killer? You believe you have to make amends for whatever it is you think you've done? You want to go to jail?"

There was a long moment of silence, then Date bowed his head in acquiescence. A tiny smile touched Matt's lips and Fritz started to shake her head.

"Doc, I don't think this is such a great idea…" she groaned, knowing it was already too late. Matt's grin grew as Date looked on with haunted eyes, shoulders slumped.

"The chief isn't the only one who can manufacture evidence," Matt smirked.

* * *

Forty-nine hours after walking into a New York police station to turn himself in for murder, Date Seiji walked back out, cleared of any involvement in the previous week's spree killings. Four hours later at Benny's, a dive bar in the bad side of town, a brawl was started. It spilled out into the street, both men fighting to the screams of the girl that the brawl had started over. Unfortunately one of the men was more vicious than the other…he didn't stop punching and kicking the first even after the poor wretch had been beaten unconscious.

It took five cops with tasers to finally contain him. The man he had beaten was taken to a hospital, apparently in a coma. The winner of the brawl was handcuffed and taken in for questioning. His name was Tsukada Shin, and he had no identification proving he was in the country legally. His use of martial arts was judged as assault with a deadly weapon and attempted homicide. One month afterwards he was delivered to Rikers Island, the most violent jail facility in New York City.

Shin never made his phone call.


	2. Chapter 1: Lockdown

A/N If this made me uncomfortable writing it, then it will probably make you uncomfortable reading it. I wrote it this way because really, jail is not fun. So yeah, be warned.

**Destructive Interference**

Chapter One: Lockdown

Jail is a bitch.

If you ever want to see just how primitive, how physical, how viciously violent the human race can be, go to jail. Rapists and murders stand elbow to elbow with lunatics and criminal masterminds, and locked away in a dark, stale, uncaring place. Their hopes and their dreams and their wives and their children and their entries lives now are ruled by the law which contains their bodies. Their minds sweep in circles around ten foot by ten foot cement coffins, over and over again until all they see is the grey. All they know is the grey. There is no black and white in jail, there are no morals and rules and regulations. There is only what they are told to do, and what they are forced to do, and what they will never let be done to them. Everything is all swirled together in a sea of anger and resentment, and that never ending sense of wrongness. Men were never meant to be caged. Gnawing at their bars and at their fingernails and at their minds, until they are all just a bit crazy. Except for the lunatics. They just develop a greater sense of self.

Ikeda Hitokiri was developing quite a firm sense of self. Although he should have been shipped upstate into a high security facility two years ago, the excessive overcrowding in the system had kept him here at Rikers on standby. Hitokiri was starting to like it here. The food was bad, the men were cruel, and the incompetents running the place seemed only capable of controlling the inmates with excessive brute force. Kind of like dinner and a show. Plus up until now, he'd had the run of his cell. Sure it wasn't much, a little bland perhaps, needed some curtains and maybe a few picture frames, but a murderer could call the place home.

Tsukada had royally fucked him the day he had moved in.

He hadn't even asked, had he? No. Just one day he had shown up, all silent and grim, that ridiculous fluffy blonde hair sticking every direction and hiding eyes that spooked even Hitokiri. Had sat down on the bottom bunk without a by your leave from Hito. Plus the guy was a freak; his manners and his calm acceptance of his imprisonment making him stick out like a sore thumb. As Tsukada's cell mate, rommie, new bestest best buddy in the entire world, it drew unwanted attention upon Hito himself. And that just wouldn't do now, would it?

Hitokiri decided that he didn't care so much for his new cellmate. Tsukada was a pretty boy and that never boded well in places like these. Life had the possibility of becoming very uncomfortable for him here. Not Hito's thing, but a guy could watch, couldn't he? Because if there was anything that Hito liked, it was pain. His own, others, it was almost worth being caught. Hell it was worth being caught, because Hitokiri liked it here. It tasted like home.

Welcome home, Tsukada Shin.

Hito had set it up perfectly. He had been put in charge of showing Tsukada what to do in the huge laundry rooms, where they would both be working now. There was the hot water, there were the detergent buckets, there was where all the disgusting, pit and shit stained clothes went in, that was where the pearly whites came out. Any questions? No? Then step this way, towards the back of the room.

"What's back here?" Tsukada asked in his soft voice, glancing at the darkness. Then his eyes narrowed as shapes shifted in the shadows, five men emerging to surround both him and Hito.

Hito just grinned at Tsukada and started buffing his fingernails against his shirt.

"Back here?" he repeated. "Just some friends. They wanted to meet you, Tsukada."

Tsukada remained still as he was flanked, watching Hito slip through the wall of muscle while running a twitchy hand through his short dark hair.

"This is unwise," Tsukada murmured softly, eyes half closing.

"Don't worry baby," one of the men said with a guttural laugh. "We'll take good care of you."

"That's appreciated," Tsukada said with a tight smile as the outspoken man made a gesture at his men, and suddenly they were all swooping down on the lone man. Tsukada waited until the last moment, then he dropped downwards, letting two of his assailants smack together roughly. The blonde swept his leg, taking both of them down before rising and landing a heavy kick to the leader's chest. The man gasped as he fell back, a strangled choking sound as his sternum cracked beneath the force of the blow. Hands grabbed Tsukada from behind, but a hard elbow backwards into a throat left one man with a partially crushed trachea. A swinging fist broke a jaw, knocking the man unconscious instantly.

Four and a half seconds. Hito had been counting.

Hito threw back his head and started to laugh, an ugly harsh sound as he clapped his hands.

"That was to the point," Hito said with a grin. Tsukada looked at him coolly.

"You set me up," he said flatly.

"Of course I did. Surprise!" Hito licked his lips. Tsukada looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to hurt Hito as well.

"Don't look so butt hurt, Shin," he smirked, stepping over bodies as he walked up to Tsukada fearlessly.

"Poor choice of words," the younger Japanese man muttered, shaking his head. Hito just shrugged, then slipped a cigarette and match out of his pocket. He lit it and took a quick drag.

"You're almost as good as me," Hito said, taking one more drag before flicking the still burning cigarette onto one of the groaning men. Tsukada continued to stare on unimpressed, even as shouts could be heard from the guards at the entrance of the laundry.

"Almost," Hito repeated as he slipped into shadows, watching as the guards rushed up, not bothering to ask questions before striking the blonde on the back with their billy clubs. Tsukada hit his knees, not fighting back as he was beaten to the ground, half unconscious when they finally stopped and drug him to solitary.

Hitokiri didn't see Tsukada Shin for a week. When he did, the blonde hair had been shorn and the young man was black and blue. Hito didn't ask Tsukada if he was okay, only handed him a cigarette that the man didn't light. Instead he handed it back to his cellmate, who refused to take it.

"You're going to need it, Shin," Hito assured him with a guttural laugh. "Take what you can get in here."

Shin said nothing, just eased himself gingerly onto his cot. Hito watched the former blonde stare at the ceiling, stare at nothing, blinking rapidly. Maybe something had hardened in him. Maybe Tsukada was seeing the grey in this windowless cell. Maybe it would swirl around him too, until he was just a bit crazy as well. And maybe no one anywhere gave a damn if Shin did go crazy.

Jail was a bitch, just the way Hito liked it.

* * *

Tsukada Shin ate his food politely, demurely every day. And every day someone would take it upon themselves to make an issue of that. The first time an inmate had walked up and flipped Tsukada's tray up into his face, the young man had reacted instantly. Not bothering to wipe greasy sauce out of his eyes, he had leapt to his feet and confronted the larger man angrily. One clumsy swinging fist later, the inmate found himself laid out cold on the concrete floor. Hitokiri had watched the violet eyes recover quickly and flash with guilt an instant before Tsukada was violently shoved from behind by a guard. He stumbled sideways into a second guard, who responded by grabbing him and forcing him face down on one of the long tables. 

"Starting trouble again, Tsukada?" the guard growled, not seeming to realize that he was not being struggled against.

"No, sir," Tsukada grunted, his jaw being ground painfully into the table to the jeers of the surrounding inmates.

"You damn Ikedas think that you can do anything you want? Well not in my jail, asshole," the guard declared, snapping Tsukada backwards so hard that his gritted teeth rattled.

"I'm not an Ikeda," Tsukada retorted, earning himself a hard slap across the face from the second guard.

"Shut it!" the second guard said, watching Tsukada spit crimson out of his mouth. He advanced on the former blonde. "You illegals are all the same, and you all work for the same piece of shit. Hitting another inmate a can get you three more years in here, Tsukada. Striking a guard can get you ten, and not even Ikeda can get you out of that. You feel like starting more trouble?" The guard had leant in so that his face was only inches from Tsukada's.

"No."

The guard smirked and looked at the rest of the inmates, who watched the exchange eagerly.

"This guy makes all you Ikedas look like shit," he said with a rough laugh. All around the room, eyes narrowed. "Maybe you should remember that."

Hitokiri smirked as the two guards drug Tsukada out of the room, a third bringing the semiconscious inmate behind. The dumb white guards never could tell any of them apart, and Tsukada was definitely not one of the Ikedas. But just because he knew that didn't mean that the others wouldn't react directly to the insult. Ikeda pride was…touchy.

They would remember.

The second week in solitary in only three weeks was not easy on Tsukada. This time when he came back, even more bruised than the first time, he looked wild eyed. He curled up in a tight ball on his cot, staring unblinkingly at the light above the beds. Staring the way a starving man stared at food. Hito wondered if the time in solitary had been time in dark as well. They weren't supposed to do that, but just because the guards shouldn't didn't mean they wouldn't. A week alone in the dark…it unhinged your brain a bit. Personally Hito didn't mind. Some quiet time for reflection was always to be enjoyed, but Tsukada didn't like it the way Hito did. Hitokiri offered him a second cigarette that was declined. A week of his food dumped in his lap and Tsukada did nothing.

Soon afterwards, Hito watched ten Ikedas beat the living hell out of his cellmate while the same guards turned their backs. Tsukada didn't fight back until the end, when he was reaching the point of being hurt too much. It was impressive to see. One minute Tsukada was on his knees, bowing beneath the assault, the next he had four of them down on the ground. The remaining six, several extremely adept at martial arts, were not as easily dispatched. But Tsukada Shin, even as hurt as he was, flowed like water over rocks. He swept over his enemies like they weren't even there. It earned him two weeks in solitary, three months of scrubbing urinals, and another cigarette from Hitokiri. This one he didn't light but he also didn't give it back.

They left his food alone.

* * *

"Hey, Shin. Wake up." The words were followed by a rough kick to the next cot over. Violet eyes snapped open, irritation obvious. 

"What, Hito?"

"What are you in for?"

"You woke me up in the middle of night for something you already know?" The blonde was not amused. He rolled onto his back, running a hand through his short growth of hair.

"I want to hear you tell it," Hito said with a lazy grin, kicking his cellmate's cot again.

"Hito." There was tired patience in the voice, as if Shin had spent plenty of time with others as irritating as Hito could be. "Kick my bed one more time and I will kill you. Slowly. Then I will go back to sleep."

"Whatever, man," Hito called his bluff. "You don't have the balls to kill anyone. You might like to rough 'em up some, but you couldn't kill anyone."

"Don't be so sure," Shin murmured, his voice soft and distant.

Hito just laughed.

"Wanna know what I'm in for?" Hito asked. Shin was silent. Hito took that as an 'Oh yes, I can't wait!' and stretched his arms above his head.

"They think I strangled two girls out back of a club in the Bronx. They think that I dumped their bodies in the river and left them there to rot."

Shin said nothing, and Hito leaned out of his cot towards his cellmate.

"Wanna know if I did it or not?" he asked wickedly. He was watching the blonde's reaction, and so far the other man hadn't blinked an eyelid.

"Do I get a choice?" Shin asked tiredly.

"Hell yeah, I did it! Bitches had it coming. I'd do it again, too, just to see the look on the redhead's face."

"You don't seem too bothered by your actions," Shin commented dryly. Hito laughed louder at that one.

"Course not. The only thing that bothers me is getting caught. I don't like being one up-ed," Hito's voice dropped dangerously. "And when I get out of here, that hot ass cop that put me away, she's gonna get what's coming to her too." He licked his lips, thinking about it.

"Killing a cop's a great way to get put back in prison," Shin said quietly.

"It doesn't matter," Hito said smugly. "I won't be staying here long. And if I come back, it'll only be a vacation then too."

"I don't understand," Shin admitted. "But I don't care. Are we done now?"

"We're done when I say we're done, Tsukada."

Hito's voice went ice cold, causing Shin to look at him in surprise. They locked eyes for a long tense moment, neither one backing down. Then suddenly Hito giggled, flipping Shin off. The other man just shook his head.

"You're insane," Shin muttered, sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes tiredly. Hito sighed dramatically and flopped himself backwards against the concrete wall.

"No, Shin, I'm just bored!" he whined. "Well, maybe a little insane, but that just adds to my charm."

"Keep trying," Shin told him flatly, folding his legs beneath him in the lotus position, closing his eyes. The blonde took a long steady breath and exhaled slowly. Hito watched him with glittering eyes.

"It won't work," he advised Shin. "Not in here, it won't."

"I've had worse distraction than you," Shin replied calmly.

"It's not me you have to worry about," Hito said quietly, sounding completely sane. "It's you yourself. You think you can find inner peace when you can't even sleep more than three hours at a time?"

"Meditation is not just for those at peace already," Shin countered through gritted teeth. Hito just smirked.

"But it is for those with the ability to focus. And you my friend can't focus on anything but the ceiling light. When the meditation doesn't work out for you, let me know, Shin. There are other ways here to do whatever the hell you think meditation will do for you."

Shin determinedly ignored him, eyes closed, hands resting lightly on his knees. Hito waited patiently for a very long time before the blonde man finally sighed and slumped, shaking his head.

"Do you have to watch me like that?" Shin asked softly.

"I see everything," Hito told him with a grin. "One can't see if one doesn't watch."

"Then what do you see?" Shin humored him tiredly. Hito flicked a cigarette out of his stash and lit it. He took a long drag then closed his eyes in pleasure as the nicotine hit his bloodstream.

"I see all the voices in your head screaming, and you don't know how to make them stop. It's funny as hell." A soft smile touched his lips.

Shin didn't speak to him for a week and a half.

* * *

Solitary was a punishment for those who misbehaved, and it tended to be an effective deterrent. But on the quiet blonde Japanese man, it worked particularly well. In fact it worked so well that a couple of the guards decided that it was the perfect way to break up the boredom of their jobs and increase the level of fear, or respect, exhibited by the inmates. Even the cruelest inmate left Tsukada alone by now, and if the guards had him by the balls, then the rest of the men were sure to be on their best behavior. 

Men by nature can be exceedingly cruel.

Lockdown was a terrifically hard time for Tsukada, as he tried desperately to avoid the traps the guards set for him. One wrong move or misspoken word landed him in solitary. More often than not he was beaten in the process. The wild-eyed and accepting look faded, replaced by a combination of feral anger and exhausted resentment. Shin grew harder as the months passed by, his nights riddled by nightmares in which he called out the names of friends long gone. No one came to visit, and more than anyone Hito had ever known, Tsukada Shin was completely alone. Hitokiri licked his lips in anticipation of the moment Shin would break. It hadn't happened yet but at some point it would.

Five months and three days into his sentence, Tsukada Shin finally snapped. It was something simple, really. It wasn't as if Shin had displayed any sort of feelings of friendship towards his cellmate, nor had he any care about the ethnic rivalries that ended in violence everyday in the yard. But a hit had been ordered from the outside on Hito and Shin happened to be in right place at the right time. Later Shin admitted that his loss of control had stemmed from his frustration at having nothing to fight back, no physical enemy to take down to end the repetitive and aggressive violence he faced each day. When that razorblade came flying at Hitokiri, he never had a chance to react because Shin had already reacted for him. The assailant was taken to the ground, the blade finding and bloodying an arm, but Shin didn't care. He fought like he didn't give a damn anymore. Hito loved it. Things went from bad to worse for Shin with the guards afterwards, but there was something in the blonde man that had forever changed.

And it was something that Ikeda Hitokiri, oldest son of the head of the Ikeda family, planned on exploiting to his complete advantage.

* * *

"Hey Hito, what are you in for?" Shin asked with a touch of droll humor in his voice. Hito laughed and kicked his feet up on the table, eyeing the rest of the men out in the yard. 

"For being a bad ass motherfucker. What about you, Shin?" It had become their own little joke.

"Something like that," Shin murmured, shaking his head. Shin was doing pull-ups off the fence, his slim frame now thickened with heavier corded muscle. Sweat rolled down his chest but he seemed oblivious. With a final grunt he dropped down lightly to his feet, running one hand through his hair.

"Only five hundred?" Hito asked with an arched eyebrow, teasing his cellmate. "You're becoming a wuss."

The look Shin gave him was almost enough to make Hito stop. But then again, it was Hito and he never stopped when it was a good idea.

"Are you going to get transferred soon?" Shin asked almost wistfully, dropping to the ground so he could start on his pushups.

"That's just mean. Where's the love, Shin, where's the love?"

Shin paused midpush and gave Hito a rare smirk, switching to one hand as he dropped back down.

"The loves in the laundry room if you're that lonely," he drawled. Hito just chuckled.

"Asshole. You're in a good mood this morning, dear," Hito's voice rose girlishly as he teased.

"First time I've gotten to be out in the yard in a week," Shin replied, head down and words muffled as he kept proper form.

"Amazing the shit that they get you to appreciate, isn't it?"

Again Shin paused, a tension going through his body as Hito's words hit home. He changed hands and gritted his teeth.

"What are you really in for?" Hito pressed. Shin ignored him, so Hito put his boot beneath Shin's chest, toe pointed towards his throat. Shin halted warily, knowing from more than a few tussles that his cellmate was not to be messed around with.

"I put a guy in a coma," Shin told him tightly. "Move your foot."

"That's all?"

"Yeah. That's all. Move your foot. Now."

"What'd he do to you?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

"The conversation's over, Hito." Shin settled back to his heels, looking pissed.

"You got something better to do than talk to me, Tsukada?" Hito asked in a deceptively mild voice. It was one that Shin had come to recognize as Hito at his most potentially dangerous. But then again, Shin was equally dangerous and was only afraid of the darkness of solitary these days.

"Confiding in serial killing psychopaths isn't my standard practice," Shin said quietly, voice flat.

"Too much like talking to yourself?" Hito countered, eyes gleaming. The blonde man quivered in anger, but kept it contained. Solitary was only one misstep away.

"You know nothing about me, _Ikeda_," Shin spat. He used the surname like it was a curse word. Which in some parts of the city it was.

"Wrong, Tsukada." Hito stood up and as he passed by the kneeling man, he leaned down to speak softly. "I see right through you. You're no killer but you are _covered_ in blood. I see _everything_." Hitokiri's high pitched laughter hung around them both, and for the first time since coming to this place, he saw Tsukada Shin shiver despite himself.

* * *

The second attempt of Ikeda Hitokiri's life pissed him off because it almost worked. It was only his own quick reflexes that saved him from being slashed across the throat, and it didn't get past his attention that the attack was timed in the small portion of the day Hito wasn't with Shin. The blonde might have little love for his cellmate, but he seemed incapable of watching someone get hurt without intervening, and his presence deterred most immediate violence. As it was, Hito spent the better part of a week in the local hospital, being transferred there in cuffs. The doctors had a hell of a time fighting the infection that resulted from the dirty blade, smuggled into the jail who knew how, slicing down his neck into his shoulder. Hito found the heavy purple scar that crossed his torso to be quite fetching and suggested that Shin get one for himself. Shin politely declined, but stayed closer to Hito's side as if he couldn't help himself. The man was a born protector, even of those he naturally disliked. Hito found the inadvertent loyalty kind of cute. His lawyers found the attack to be a perfect opportunity to do what they had been trying to do ever since Hito had been arrested: get him out. 

There were a lot of things that Hito didn't pay very much attention to. Things like security issues, excessive negligence, and inadequate staffing were tossed around with inherent risks and good behavior. New evidence that pointed at botched detective work surfaced, judges were bribed, and money changed hands. Someone disappeared until a certain paper was signed. All Hito cared about was that one day he was taken before a court judge and told he was to be put on house arrest until further judgment could be made on his case. He was free to go home.

Hitokiri wasn't going anywhere without his bestest best new buddy, Shin. The team of lawyers sighed and went back to work. There was almost nothing to be known about Tsukada Shin, obviously an illegal immigrant with a manufactured name. But there was plenty of evidence of assault and neglect at the hands of the guards, two in particular. Nine months and eighteen days after being taken to jail for attempted homicide, of which five months and seventeen days had been spent in solitary, Tsukada Shin was released on probation. When he stepped out of the huge gates, finally free of his imprisonment, he had no idea of where to go or what to do. A limo pulled up and solved the problem for him.

Ikeda Hitokiri was sprawled out in an overly expensive leather desk chair, feet up on the solid cherry desk, arms lazily folded behind his head when Shin was brought to his family's penthouse suite on the Upper East Side. Shin followed a demur Japanese woman in traditional garb into the study, eyes sweeping over the room with a mildly curious detachment. He moved like a cat. It made Hito grin.

"I told you I wasn't going to be staying in their very long," Hito smirked at Shin, giving his tailored silk shirt a little tug on the collar. Shin said nothing, violet eyes darker than normal. It usually meant that Shin was feeling an excess of his normal emotions, but Hito had never been able to read Shin as well as he pretended. But Shin didn't need to know that.

"Aren't you going to thank me for getting you out too?" Hito pressed lightly, only half teasing. Shin said nothing for a long time then he finally bowed formally. "You know you owe me now, don't you? And for all those times I protected you in there."

Shin raised one eyebrow, seeming unconvinced. "That was considered being under protection?" he murmured, causing Hito to laugh a bit too loudly.

"You're not dead, are you?" There was really nothing to say to that so Shin didn't.

"Do you know why you're here?" Hito asked, suddenly jumping to his feet and pacing the room behind the desk. Shin remained where he was, standing easy and motionless.

"You need something from me."

"Exactly!" Hito declared with pride. "Only not something from you. I need you yourself."

Another eyebrow rose.

"Do you know where you are right now Shin?" Hito didn't wait for an answer as he started to gesture wildly. "You are in the apex of the city. You are in the center of gravity, the pivotal point of all that does and does not happen in New York. This is my city, Shin, and it does what I say. And what I say happens right in this very room!"

"What you say."

"Okay, what my father and I say, to be perfectly accurate. But one day, it will be just what I say, and so you are to think of this as the most important day of your life. You are to consider yourself the luckiest sonofabitch in the world today, because today and today only you will be given the chance of a lifetime! You, my dear ex cellmate, have a job to do."

Shin looked around the study, ignoring Hito and concentrating instead on the priceless artifacts lining the walls, of the ceiling to floor windows that showed the backdrop of the New York skyline. Concentrating on the sheer opulence that surrounded them both. Shin sank into one of the many chairs available, eyebrows knitted together under longish blonde bangs.

"These things don't come cheap," he murmured. Hito smirked and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.

"There are more where they come from. There's good money to be made, my friend."

"But is there clean money to be made?" Shin asked, straight to the point. Hito stared at him, amazed at his audacity, here of all places. Here where all Hito had to do was pick up the phone and they'd be fishing Shin out of the river next week in bloated pieces. Here in the heart of the Ikeda fortune, where they controlled all they saw. The sheer nerve! To insinuate that they were the crime syndicate that the public believed them to be.

"You're a bold man," Hito said with a quirky grin which oddly enough Shin returned. "But maybe a foolish one."

"Maybe." Shin seemed unconcerned. Hito's respect for him increased and he caved.

"There's clean money to be made. Clean good money for prissy little shits that insist on it. Anything else, asshole?" Shin was full on grinning now.

"Yes. I won't kill anyone. Or take any drugs with you."

"You're killing _me_," Hito was rolling his eyes. "Is that all, princess?"

"That is all," Shin nodded. "What do I have to do?"

Hitokiri sat down and pulled out a heavy black semi automatic from the top desk drawer, sliding it across the desk to Shin. The blonde man didn't touch it.

"Your job, Tsukada, is to protect me. That's your penance for all I have done for you. Your honor demands it."

Shin stared at the gun with hooded eyes and the son of Ikeda thought that he would refuse. He obviously hated guns from the look on his face. A shame too, because it would mean that they would have to kill him. Did Tsukada think this as the devil's temptation? Was he the kind of man that took that temptation? How much honor did Tsukada have left in him? The blonde shifted slightly, pulling something out of his pocket. It was one of the cigarettes that Hito had given him months ago. He rolled it in his hand back and forth as he struggled with the decision. Oh yes, Tsukada Shin was no fool. He knew exactly what he would be getting himself into. The hand stopped rolling... Hitokiri smiled triumphantly as Shin lit the cigarette and smoked the whole damn thing without coughing once.

Then he picked up the gun.


End file.
